


Trying Again

by MissMollyBloom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23133469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMollyBloom/pseuds/MissMollyBloom
Summary: My post for Sherlolly Appreciation week 2020 - Day 1: "there's only one bed".When, two weeks after Sherrinford, Molly has to share a room with Sherlock during the weekend away for Greg and Laura Lestrade's re-marriage, what might happen between the pair? If you know me, you know it's gonna be Sherlolly-flavoured!Rated M for some smexy times. And don't forget the fluff. There will be fluff.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 8
Kudos: 104





	Trying Again

Although Molly was skeptical when Greg Lestrade announced that he and Laura were tying the knot for the third time, Molly had to admit that there was more than a little appeal in spending the weekend out of London for the wedding. Especially after the last few months – Mary’s death, Sherlock’s relapse and recovery, the bombing of 221B, Sherlock’s sister, and that phonecall – the one that Molly tried her best to forget and Sherlock seemed to have perfected the art of acting like it had never happened.

And so when presented with the option to get away, Molly took it.

Greg’s wife-come-ex-wife-come-fiancé Laura, being a High School English teacher (or glorified babysitter, as Sherlock had once said a little bit too close to Greg’s earshot), had chosen Stratford-Upon-Avon as her setting. Ignoring Sherlock’s protests (Shakespeare didn’t even write those plays, he’d snarked), Molly RSVP’d yes straight away. It was only a week later that she started doubting that Greg and Laura’s relationship would last as long as the wedding date, concerns she refused to share with an equally sceptical Sherlock.

But the day drew near and Molly soon found herself pulling into the driveway of the Hallmark hotel. The grounds almost took Molly’s breath away, beautifully manicured lawns, terraced gardens, and the hotel itself was like something out of Downton Abbey – ornate and imposing on the landscape with more windows than Molly could possibly count. If she were to have a wedding, she would have chosen a place just like this.

Greg and Laura were there to greet her when she arrived. Any prior tensions about their impending nuptials seemed erased as they clung to each other as if their very lives depended on it. Molly hadn’t seen such levels of public affection since back at uni between her roommate Meena and Meena’s boyfriend Mark. Molly never admitted to Meena that she was relieved when the two boke it off in third year.

“You’re the lucky last to arrive, Molls,” Greg grinned at Molly as Laura nipped at his neck as if Molly wasn’t even there. “Here’s the key to your room.”

Molly thanked Greg and made as swift a departure as she could from the increasingly nauseating couple, promising to return downstairs for dinner at 6.

Molly couldn’t believe what she saw when she opened the door and stepped into her room. If the outside was like Downton Abbey then her room was so on-point she felt like Lady Edith. Warm, cozy furnishings, a small round table with plush dining chairs in the corner, all bathed with a warm glow from gorgeous lamp lighting placed strategically around the room. It was all beautiful, but it was the ornate four-poster bed that really drew her eye.

Molly couldn’t wait. She kicked off her shoes and flopped down on the bed. It was just as comfortable as it looked, her body almost falling into the mattress. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of relaxation when there was a knock at the door.

“I thought dinner wasn’t until 6?” She asked as she opened the door.

She had assumed the knock to have come from Greg.

It didn’t.

It was Sherlock.

“I decided to come. ”He said, brushing past her to enter the room, placing his travel bag on the floor and removing his coat.

“I see that, but why didn’t you drop off your bag before coming to say hi?”

Sherlock’s face scrunched. “Well, about that. It seems that they’ve run out of rooms.”

There was a moment of silence while the situation dawned on her.

“Ok,” Molly said cautiously.

“So I was wondering – I mean,” he gestured to the bed. “It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared.”

He was right. They had shared a bed in her flat on multiple occasions, especially when he was “dating” Jeanine and needed a place to stay away from her. It was one such platonic bed-sharing occasion that Tom had stumbled upon and completely misinterpreted, leading to the end of their engagement.

More recently, in the desperate moments during his recovery when in the dark of night he’d call her name and find comfort in her presence, she’d slide into the covers beside him. In the light of day he’d always wake before her and greet her in the morning like nothing had ever taken place.

But they hadn’t shared a bed recently, not in the last few weeks, definitely not since that phonecall. Molly wasn’t sure if her heart could take more hurt, having him so close but not being able to touch him.

“Sherlock, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea,” is what she meant to say.

“Ok,” is what she heard herself saying instead.

Molly thought she saw relief flash across Sherlock’s face.

“Fancy a drink?” he asked, reaching for the complementary bottle of champagne that Molly hadn’t noticed in her hurry to test out the bed.

“Why not?” She asked. But she knew why not. Sherlock Holmes was in her room, Sherlock Holmes was about to share a bed with her, the same Sherlock Holmes who knew without a doubt that she loved him, and who had said the same to her in a tone so convincing she almost believed he meant it – right up until Mycroft’s assistant knocked on her door and told her the full story.

Perhaps Dutch courage was precisely what she needed.

“What should we toast to?” Molly asked as he passed her a glass, purposefully ignoring the electricity she felt when their fingers brushed.

“To trying again,” he said, his eyes burrowing deeply into hers.

He’d meant Greg and Laura, right?

Champagne always went to Molly’s head and before long she was in rapt attention as he regaled her with the details of his latest case. So taken was she by his story that she almost didn’t hear the knock at the door.

Sherlock opened it, only to be greeted by Greg, eyes red-ringed from crying.

“I’m sorry Sherlock, Molly, the wedding’s off,” he said, before crying again.

“Was it the masseuse?” Sherlock asked.

Greg shook his head.

“The hairdresser?”

Greg’s tears turned into sobs.

“Or was it-“ Molly put a steeling hand on Sherlock’s arm, stopping him before he shared another one of his deductions.

“I’m so sorry, Greg.” Molly said.

“I’m, s-sorry you came all this way for nothing.” Greg said before another wave of sobs crashed over him.

“I’m sure we’ll make good use of the trip,” Sherlock said. There was an undercurrent in his voice, but Molly couldn’t quite work out what it was.

Greg apologized again before moving off to the next room on his rounds.

“So, room service?” Sherlock asked as the door shut.

“I suppose the group dinner is off, so why not?”

When the food arrived, they ate in companionable conversation. He talked more about his cases, she shared some interesting findings from the bodies she’d examined over the last few weeks. It was just like old times, back when they could share her flat and not have her feelings take up all the air in the room.

By dessert, the champagne was long gone and the wine that came with dinner had been emptied. Sherlock reached into the minibar, grabbing two mini bottles of vodka.

“I really shouldn’t,” Molly said.

“Yes, you should,” he said, handing a bottle to her.

Dutch courage indeed.

The dessert was chocolate volcano cake. Rich gooey chocolate ran out of the center when she pierced it with her spoon. The sauce was so delicious, Molly couldn’t stop herself moaning as the flavor exploded in her mouth.

“This is so good,” she said by way of explanation when she caught Sherlock staring at her.

Without warning, Sherlock reached across the table, his finger running along her lip.

Molly had no idea what he was doing until he showed her the chocolate on his finger. Wordlessly, he licked his finger, removing the chocolate.

Molly’s breath hitched.

Sherlock stood, walking over to Molly.

“There’s still some left,” he explained, “may I?”

Instead of his finger, Sherlock leaned down, placing his lips on hers. Molly’s mouth opened in shock, only to find Sherlock kissing her soundly.

All conscious thought vanished and instinct took over. Her fingers weaved through his hair. His arms snaked around her body, pulling her close. Both moving in perfect unison as he backed her up against the bed. His lips teased hers and Molly couldn’t help opening to him, eliciting a small groan as she did. Emboldened, he claimed her lips more powerfully, as if marking her as his own. The feeling caused Molly’s knees to buckle and she pulled them both backwards onto the bed, Sherlock’s full weight pinning her to the mattress.

The kiss stopped briefly as they settled in place. It was enough to bring her back to reality. 

She rolled away from him, still panting, mouth still tingling with the ghost of his lips.

“Sherlock, what is this?” she asked, cursing herself for her need for clarity, her desire for definition rather than just going with every instinct inside her that said to go for it.

“This is me, trying again.” His face was downcast, almost in supplication.

She searched his eyes, trying to glean his meaning. “Trying again to do what?”

Sherlock reached out for her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers.

Molly’s breath caught in her throat. They’d shared a bed, she’d examined his naked body on numerous occasions, and they’d just kissed each other senseless – but somehow the joining of his hand with hers was the most intimate act they’d ever experienced.

“Do you see these scars?” he asked, moving his hand, which still held hers, closer into her view.

Sharp lines marred his porcelain skin, jagged cuts which were healing, but hadn’t yet disappeared. They looked only a few weeks old.

A few weeks ago Sherlock was stuck in Sherrinford with his deranged secret sister.

“What happened?” Molly asked, removing her fingers from his so as to trace the violent lines that violated his flesh.

He described Eurus’ tests, each more sadistic than the last. He’d explained about the Garrideb brothers, the fear in their eyes as they processed their fate, dangling as they did above the Sherrinford cliffs. He’d condemned Alex because he had no choice, but Eurus spared the murderer only to spare his innocent brothers – or so Sherlock had thought until she cast them, too into the sea and rocks below.

As he spoke, Sherlock looked haunted by the memories. Molly couldn’t stop herself from running a hand through his hair, a gesture of comfort. His eyes closed for a moment, reveling in the sensation, before taking her hand in his.

“What happened to the Garridebs was just the beginning,” Sherlock explained.

He described another room, empty except for a coffin.

“She said that somebody was about to die, and considering I’d just watched her kill three men in cold blood, I believed it.”

His eyes were so far away, Molly wondered if by sharing it with her he was also reliving it.

He described a coffin designed for someone small – about 5 ft 4, a practical informed choice made by someone acquainted with the process of death. His eyes bored into hers as he said it, and Molly wondered if there were the beginnings of tears forming in the corner.

“It was your coffin, Molly.”

He almost broke then, eyes darting away from hers as if looking at her would make it real, bring the memory back to life.

She reached for him, hoping that the contact would bring him back to her, to the present, to this room.

“I had no other choice, my sister,” his tone was poison as he said it, “she said you were about to die and I had no reason not to believe it.”

“The phone call,” she said. Sherlock closed his eyes, nodding slowly.

“It’s ok, Anthea told me all about the lies about the bomb, her agents removed all the cameras. It’s fine, Sherlock.”

He shook his head, eyes still closed so as not to meet hers.

“I thought I might lose you, Molly. And in a way, I almost did.”

“What do you mean? I’m here, I’m alive.”

“Eurus didn’t take you away from me, but she did almost take away my one chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“That coffin – I didn’t tell you what was written on the plaque.” He paused, steeling himself. “Three words. I love you.”

“It was the code, it was what she needed you to get me to say,” Molly supplied.

Sherlock shook his head. “When someone dies, the words on the coffin aren’t a message from those who have departed, it’s a dedication from those who are left behind. My sister, who has no concept of emotion, knew the one thing I had blinded myself to.”

“Which is what?”

“I love you, Molly.”

Molly couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“Eurus robbed me of the chance to say it properly the first time, or the second, but here I am, trying again.”

Molly didn’t know what to say, but instinct took over. Her lips brushed his, feather-light. He tilted his head towards her, kissing her gently but soundly.

“I love you, too” she murmured between kisses a truth they both knew.

\---

The next morning Molly awoke to the feeling of Sherlock’s warm body pressed into hers, his arm across her torso and his leg draped possessively over hers. It took a moment before the memories of the previous night registered in her conscious mind. Flashes came back to her.

Fingers brushing along the side of her face, down her neck, pulling down the strap of her bra.

Mouth on lips, throat, chest, breasts.

Her fingers snaking their way through his hair, tangled in his curls, pulling ever so slightly to elicit a moan from him so deep and desperate it was positively sinful.

Clothes abandoned, strewn around the room in a frenzy as skin ached to meet skin.

The exquisite ache as he filled her soundly, thrusting deeper and deeper.

The glorious sound as he reached his climax moments after she did her own.

In the light of day it all seemed so surreal, like she had dreamt it, but the feeling of his hand on her back, tracing small circles as Sherlock slowly woke brought reality crashing in.

“Morning,” he growled with a voice still gravelly from sleep.

“Morning,” she said, arching into him, luxuriating in the feel of him against her bare flesh.

She wanted nothing more than to stay there, enjoying each other and the pleasure they could bring from each other’s bodies, but something stopped her, a question she needed answered.

“Is this why you came?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you would have known that the wedding would be cancelled.”

“True.”

“So, did you come just so that we could,” Molly smirked, “share a bed.”

“Not quite.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, there’s a wedding venue with a last minute cancellation. It would be a shame for it to go to waste,” Sherlock smirked

\---

John had to be told three times before he’d believe it. Mrs Hudson was so overcome with the reality of it that she didn’t care about the details. Greg, as heartbroken as he was, was happy that something good could have come out of the situation.

Even years later, Molly would smile as she remembered the weekend she got married to Sherlock Holmes. She was so thankful that she decided to get out of the city for the weekend, and even more thankful that Sherlock was brave enough to try again.


End file.
